


Worst-Case Scenario

by HanginWithLilJ (FlyDizzeeD)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fake AH Crew, Fear of Heights, Gen, Geoff cares, Non-graphic vomiting, Panic Attacks, Ryan cares, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Romantic Tension, slight jeremwood but barely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 17:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyDizzeeD/pseuds/HanginWithLilJ
Summary: Jeremy has been with the crew for a few months, but he's still too nervous to reveal one of his biggest fears. Unfortunately, that apprehension puts him directly in the thick of it.At least he has Ryan.





	1. Chapter 1

Towers and planes are not the same. Jumping out of a plane and performing on a high bar are not the same. Lots of things in the world simply aren't similar, and Jeremy feels justified because of this fact. But more than anything, he's just grateful it hasn't been an issue so far.

Until, one day, it is.

It's inevitable, in his line of work. He's not quite sure how he's avoided it thus far. It doesn't really matter, anyway, because now it's a real problem. And it's a real problem he sure as hell doesn't want help with. He has enough weaknesses exposed already. He's got a temper. He's short. He's new to the area. He tends to start fights. These are all faults, and they're also facts his new crew is aware of. Sure, he trusts them to some degree. A bit of hero worship, admittedly. But he's got some wits about him, and those wits are telling him one thing: don't expose your fears.

You can see the issue, then, when he's informed he'll be jumping out of a plane and landing on an incredibly tall building to perch on the ledge and provide overwatch.

With the Vagabond.

Yeah.

He's been with the Fakes for about six months. A decent amount of time, but nowhere near as long as they've been with one another. The “fuck this I'm out” option is still available, and would land him back with his old group, but so far he's been happy with where he is. Michael and Gavin took to him almost instantly, dragging him into their repeated nonsense to the point Jeremy is regularly coming up with shit himself. Jack has made a point to be endlessly welcoming in spite of the short jokes. Geoff just kinda likes everyone so long as they're not an asshole. And Ryan…

Ryan seems to _really_ like him. Or at least, Jeremy thinks Ryan really likes him. The others seem to think so, too, and the fact that Jeremy even knows his real name is a good sign. Ryan enthusiastically joining him on missions is also a good sign.

The only bad sign is that the Vagabond seems to fucking _hate_ him.

Logically, he's aware that Ryan and the Vagabond are the same guy. But still, the second the mask goes on and work begins, the tension is impossible to miss. The Vagabond works effortlessly with everyone else in the crew. But when he's with Jeremy (or Rimmy Tim, rather) it's different. He's more stiff. He crowds Jeremy's space and takes over all the time. For some reason, he seems to think Jeremy is incompetent. The constant micro-managing gets on his nerves and causes him to make stupid mistakes he wouldn't usually make, which in turn proves the Vagabond right. It's a relentless circle he's stuck in.

So, understandably, he's going into this one with a lot of stress.

That's why he can't hold still on the plane. He's fidgeting in his seat on the Mammatus as the slow little plane ambles through the night sky. They have faster planes, of course, but the small civilian plane is less likely to attract attention. Ryan is sat next to him, his mask sitting in his lap. He looks over at Jeremy and smiles.

“We’re almost there. Excited about your first jump?”

Jeremy has to force a smile in return. “Absolutely.”

“Don't worry. I'm sure the parachute will work this time.” Ryan says with a wink.

The laugh that he has to manually push out of himself is strained, but thankfully Ryan accepts it and goes back to fiddling with one of his knives. The metal catches the dim light in the cabin of the plane and shines across the blade as his index finger gently runs over the thumb rise and along the spine, withdrawing before he reaches the drop point. He turns it over in his hand to trace the outline of the blood groove, his nail catching the inside occasionally. Seemingly satisfied, Ryan taps the flat, cold grind one more time and slides the knife back in its sheath. Jeremy is mostly trying to not think about how hot knives are. And how hot Ryan is. And how hot Ryan is with knives. He's failing. Whatever. For a moment he glances out the small window next to him, but the decision is a bad one. His eyes snap back to the floor as his stomach twists.

A light above their heads, previously red, flicks to green. Jeremy's knotted up stomach falls out of him entirely. It's time to jump.

He looks over just in time to catch Ryan's grin before he slides the mask on. The Vagabond wastes no time in standing up and pulling the latch on the door to their left, leaning across Jeremy to do so. The door is pulled open by the wind, and he knows they have a very limited timeframe here. They have to hit a small target, and they have to do it right, or the whole thing is a bust. The harness holding his parachute on his body is biting into him but it still doesn't feel tight enough. He stands on shaky legs that almost refuse to cooperate.

The other man can't jump until he does, since he's closer to the door and the space is limited. He already feels like he's being sucked out of the plane by the wind, and the dark night sky isn't exactly welcoming. Looking out, he sees where they're supposed to land. He can do this. He has no choice.

His eyes close. He's not breathing, but he really should be. He takes a step forward, then another, and his third meets nothing but air. The wind smacks him hard in the face and makes him thankful for the protective goggles he'd been given as he falls out of the aircraft and into open sky. There's resistance all around him, pushing inside of him and through him entirely. It feels like the world is pushing back up against him, telling him to stop falling, but there's something even stronger shoving him down, down, down. When his eyes finally open, it's only for a fraction of a second, because the sight below is utterly terrifying. They snap closed again until suddenly a reasonable thought fights its way through his imploding brain and into the forefront. He really needs to see where he's going, doesn't he?

Just like that, his eyes are open again. And his brain is working again, at least partially, because he realizes he needs to open his parachute. His hand, shaky yet determined, finds the ripcord and pulls hard. The air is knocked out of him completely when the force of the parachute opening launches him upwards. He's too numb to feel how badly he's shaking.

Jeremy throws up as soon as he lands on the roof.

Ryan lands shortly after him with more grace and less vomit. Jeremy glances up to see the skull locked on him, the lights on the roof and space between them not providing enough light to see his eyes. Two empty black holes simply watch him. He clears his throat and looks away before speaking.

“We should get in position. The guys will be there in about an hour, maybe less.”

Not checking to see if the Vagabond agrees with him, Jeremy makes his way over to the position they're in charge of holding for the duration of the mission. They've been dropped off ahead of schedule to make sure nothing unusual happens before the actual mission takes place. Easy.

The closer he gets to the edge, the worse he feels. He's pouring sweat at this point, the stress making him soak through his undershirt, desperate for time to fly so they can get to the fucking ground.

Gravel crunches under his shoes as he moves and there's the same noise behind him, so Ryan must be following. He swallows hard when he sees the generator they're to use for cover. The ugly metal machine is near the western edge of the roof, parallel to the floor they're supposed to be watching in the neighboring building, and is only a few feet tall. It's not great cover, but it's all they have up here. That generator isn't actually running, but the other ones around them are. There's a steady rumble and the occasional noise coming from the machines behind them.

Jeremy sits behind the dull green generator, back pressed against the cool metal. He stares at his shoes.

He doesn't look up when the Vagabond sits next to him. Doesn't really do much of anything until ten minutes pass by and he still feels just as sick to his stomach, at which point he twists his body around, looks over the generator, and regrets every decision that has led to this moment in his life. His stomach twists and turns even when he looks away, his body shaking lightly. The panic just won't go away. He somehow feels like he's floating away, but also like he swallowed twenty rocks. Slowly but surely, the feeling is mounting and coherent thought is escaping him. Most of his thoughts are boiling down to “this is not okay.” Freaking out on a mission is not okay. Being so high up is not okay. Nothing is okay, he's surrounded by pressure, and suddenly he's aware of the tears running down his cheeks, their pace increasing. He can't do it. He's a fuck up. He can't do it. He's screwing everyone over. He can't do it. He shouldn't even be in the crew. He can not fucking do it and his brain is crashing. He's panicking and scared and--

“Oh, shit-- breathe, Jeremy, you have to breathe.” Ryan's voice breaks through some of the fog, but just barely. It's not enough.

“Jeremy, c'mon man, they're gonna think I killed you.” Ryan's own stress bleeds through the attempt at humor. “Breathe with me, please, it's okay.”

At some point, he curls in on himself. He has his knees drawn to his chest, face buried in his legs, and both hands planted firmly on the roof so he can feel it's still there. Enough of his face is still visible for Ryan to see the snot and tears, his partner's crying entirely silent because he still isn't breathing. The panic has overridden whatever it deems unimportant. His eyes are squeezed shut even though all he would be able to see is his own pants. He doesn't care. He can't look. He might see the open sky and the ledge and it's already too much. He's quickly approaching blackout territory.

He doesn't hear Ryan move, too lost in his own head. It's only when there's cautious hands on him that he somewhat tunes in to the rest of the world. His head is gently moved up and away from his legs, making him look forward. Before he has the chance to look around at all the empty space and lose it even worse, the hands move to cup around the sides of his face like blinders. All he can see is Ryan's face, no mask, inches away from his so it's all he can focus on.

“Look at me, Jer. Look at my mouth, and we're gonna breathe. Right along with me.”

True to his word, Ryan just calmly takes deep breaths. In and out, quietly saying the words before the actions. Jeremy doesn't follow at first, darkness blotching his vision from the lack of oxygen. When he does inhale, it's broken halfway through as he chokes on a sob. But it's progress. He doesn't manage to match Ryan exactly, but he breathes and keeps breathing, even as his panic becomes more vocal with pleads and messy sobs.

They stay that way for a solid 20 minutes. Their foreheads are lightly touching as Jeremy slowly gets somewhat of a hold of himself again. Ryan stays quiet for the most part, offering occasional encouragement or soft humming. When Jeremy is finally enough to breathe steady in spite of the fear, Ryan speaks, voice quiet.

“I can move away now if you want, or I can stay right here, or we can do whatever you need. Just tell me what you need, Jeremy.”

He takes some time to think about it. He's not too sure what needs other than to be on ground level, but he sorta figures it out.

Instead of talking, though, he acts. He pulls his face away from Ryan's but keeps his eyes locked on the other man so he has something to focus on. Ryan is kneeling in front of him, but he leans back when they disconnect and waits patiently. Jeremy pats the spot next to him and a beat later Ryan is sat there, still watching him. Neither of them make a sound as Jeremy scoots close enough to lean against him and Ryan's arm slides over his shoulders. No longer locking eyes, Jeremy chooses to focus on his partner's boring boots.

He's still shaking somewhat, still not calm and still not happy about where he is.

“We can radio in.” Ryan says, startling him a bit. “The mission can be postponed, it's not a big deal.”

Jeremy is barely audible, but they're close enough to make up for the hushed tone. “I'm sorry. I messed up the mission and--”

“Hey. No. You didn't do this on purpose, Jeremy. It's okay, but you can't work like this.”

It's a good point. He's still entirely shaken up, and he's going to be as long as they're up here. Shooting at long-distance moving targets? Nope. Not gonna happen.

He's still crying. He can't really stop.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, Jer-bear. Let me talk to Geoff real quick.”

Technically Gavin is in charge of important shit like this over comms, but he's also kind of a prick sometimes, even when he doesn't mean to be, and Ryan wants to skip that. The squawking and questions aren't gonna help right now. His earpiece only directly connects to Gavin, Geoff, or the main line for the whole crew, so Geoff it is. He switches the frequency and clears his throat.

“Hey, Kingpin. Vagabond here.” The codenames are protocol. They have yet to have any of their communications interfered with, but it's better safe than sorry.

“Fuck. Shit. Are we compromised? We're not even there yet!” His voice is staticy over the device, but his frustration is loud and clear.

“We're not compromised, but I need to get Rimmy out of here.”

Geoff doesn't ask stupid questions when he's worried. He jumps straight to “Is he hurt?”

“Sort of.”

“Get him out of there. I'll let the others know.” The trust he has in Ryan's judgment is whole. If Ryan says Jeremy needs to go home, he needs to go home.

“Yes sir, Mr. Kingpin, sir.” 

“Damn right.”

The conversation ends there. Ryan squeezes Jeremy's shoulder. “C'mon,” he says, “we're going home.”

The younger man looks like he's about to hit another round of mass panic.

“But the mission--”

“Isn't as important as you. We're going home.”

Jeremy doesn't argue further because he's stuck on the first sentence. Damn. This has been one hell of a night, and the dawn is still far off. He watches as Ryan stands, dusting off his jeans, and grabs the hand held out to help him up. The hand doesn't go away, still firmly holding his own, and that's more than fine. The grip is reassuring, even as he slowly makes his way across the rooftop on unsure legs. Ryan has him. They're partners. Battle buddies. And they're going home.


	2. Chapter 2

Nobody besides Ryan talks to him that night. They've apparently all decided to give him space, though he's mostly sure none of them besides Geoff and maybe Jack really know what happened.

He's not even in his own room. Embarrassed as hell by it, but he's not ready to be alone yet. So he's in Ryan's bed, buried under the sheets. He's still mostly dressed, having barely kicked off his shoes before making for the warm mattress. The lights are off and the room is mostly quiet until the door opens and closes again, followed by footsteps that are practiced in stealth enough to be barely audible. The bed dips some.

He turns to look at Ryan, perched on the opposite side of the bed. The other man is bent over, likely unlacing his own boots. When he does straighten up, Jeremy hears his back pop.

“I'm sorry.”

Ryan sighs. “I know, Jeremy.”

“I can leave.”

“If you want to leave, I won't stop you. But you don't have to.”

He doesn't know what to say to that. Ryan continues talking anyway.

“At least take the jacket off before you fall asleep. Nobody wants a wrinkled Rimmy Tim.”

“Wrinkly Tim.”

Ryan snorts. “Could be a DC hero.” He teases, scooting onto the bed the rest of the way. Jeremy lifts the covers, tries not to think too hard about it, and Ryan slides underneath them. They're only about a foot apart. They could space out if they want to.

But they don't.

Jeremy's voice is far quieter than normal. Far more subdued. “Are you sure I can sleep here?”

“Only if you stop apologizing every ten seconds.”

“Sorry.”

“Jeremy.”

“Shit. Sorr-- uh, I mean, no problem.”

The chuckling coming from the man next to him earns a huff and what Jeremy would never admit is a pout. Ryan apologizes around the laughter.

“Sorry, sorry, you're just funny when you're flustered. I'm so used to being the one to flub, it's great watching other people do it.”

“Thanks, Rye.”

“Any time, Jer. Now hush and sleep.”

Reluctantly, he does both. And when he wakes up hours later, he's horrified but entirely unsurprised to find that they changed positions at some point. He's half on top of Ryan, face buried in the taller man's shirt. Ryan, for his part, has his arms tightly wrapped around Jeremy. Thankfully, he's a notoriously light sleeper, so he wakes not long after Jeremy squirms some. He blinks his eyes open and squints at the shorter man before smiling.

“Hey, Jer.”

“Hey, Ryan. Could you let go?”

Ryan whines but nods and relinquishes his grip, arms falling to his sides on the bed.

“You're like a space heater.” He says as Jeremy rolls off of him but makes no move to leave the bed. The sheets are tangled all around them and there's some light shining in around the edges of the heavy window curtains. Jeremy doesn't know what time it is, but he figures it's probably around noon. Nobody has interrupted them, so he at least knows nothing disastrous has happened during their time alone.

Time alone.

With Ryan.

Right.

“I should probably go.” He says, staring up at the ceiling. Anything to avoid Ryan's direct stare.

“Probably.”

The room is slightly cold, but the bed is warm from the two of them. He's loathe to move and abandon the comfort, but he's already fucked up enough. Staying would only add to it, since he's too stupid to not say something awkward. He clears his throat, mumbles an agreement, and manages to free himself from the blankets. Ryan sits up, propped against the headboard, watching him.

“Thanks, by the way.” Jeremy says as he grabs his shoes from the floor.

“No problem, and don't worry about it. You'd do the same thing for me.”

Yeah. In an alternate universe where Ryan has fears, Jeremy would help. He doesn't mention how they aren't in that universe.

“Of course. I'm gonna go talk to Geoff. See ya later?”

Ryan smiles. “See ya later, battle buddy.”

Laughing, Jeremy nods and leaves the room. He shuts the door behind him and walks off down the hall. Better change into something that's not a wrinkled mess before going on with his day. His own room is much colder than Ryan's, but northern blood still runs in Jeremy's veins, even this far from home. He changes into a hoodie and shorts, sorta fixes his ruffled hair, and goes to the kitchen. His phone says it's only about an hour past noon, so if anyone is around, they're probably having lunch.

He only gets two steps into the living room before he's pounced on by a scrawny Brit.

“Lil J! I thought Ryan killed you and was hiding the body in his room.” Gavin says, his hands all over the place as he checks Jeremy over. The shorter man rolls his eyes.

“Nope, not yet.”

He's interrupted by a voice directly in his ear, leaning over his shoulder. “I don't have enough plants to hide the scent yet.” Ryan says, his voice low and nearly a purr. Jeremy flinches but chuckles a bit while Gavin squeaks.

“Jesus Christ, Ryan, do you always have to be so flipping creepy?”

“No, but it has its benefits.” He slides around Jeremy and wanders into the kitchen, where Geoff is leaning against the counter. The other two follow.

“Gavin, aren't you supposed to be going to pick up the take-out? They said fifteen minutes.” Geoff says, not looking up from his phone.

The younger man looks at the gold watch on his wrist and yelps. “Shitting-- I'm taking your Adder.”

“Food better not be cold.”

Gavin grins and snatches Geoff's keys from the table by the door as he heads out. “It won't be.”

The door slams shut behind him. Jeremy rolls his eyes, sitting at one of the bar stools at the island. He catches the diet Coke Ryan tosses him, thanking him with a thumbs up.

“So,” Geoff starts, “we should talk.”

Jeremy knew it was coming, but he's still not excited about it. He nods but stays quiet. Geoff continues.

“Listen. Shit happens. And you know I care more about my family than any stupid heist or mission, and you're family, Jeremy. I need to know what's up so this doesn't happen again. We were lucky this time. We might not be next time.”

It makes perfect sense. For all their leader bumbles and fails, he's still leader for a reason. Ryan is busying himself with putting away dishes. Courteous.

“I know, and I'm sorry, Geoff. I thought I would be okay.”

“Apology not needed, but accepted regardless. Now can you please tell me what's up?”

Jeremy sighs. Time to look like a bitch. “I had a panic attack. A bad one.”

“He couldn't breathe.” Ryan chimes in as he puts silverware in a drawer.

“Yeah. That happened. I'm afraid of heights. Stupid, I know.” He forces a laugh. “Always have been. Makes me sick to my stomach. Planes aren't so bad, especially if the window is covered and I have music or something. But the, uh,” he swallows, “the skydiving. And the roof. It was too much.”

He stares at his drink can, twisting it in his hands. The dull metal is a shit distraction from what he assumes are annoyed looks from his crew members.

“That's it?” Geoff asks.

“That's it.”

“God damn it, Jeremy, you had me worried you were dying of some secret disease or some shit! I looked at sympathy cards today!” As per usual, Geoff's voice has gotten pitchy and stressed. He groans and puts his face in his hands, words muffled when he speaks again. “Thank God.”

Jeremy looks at him, finally. “Thank God I'm afraid of heights?”

“Yes! Thank God! I can work with that a lot better than like, polio or some shit.” Geoff sighs and fixes him with a more serious look. “I'm just glad you're okay. I'm glad Ryan was there with you. And you're grounded.”

“What? Geoff, I'm a grown--”

“As in you're staying on the ground, idiot. No more rooftops or jumping out of planes. Rimmy Tim is a land mammal from here on out.” He narrows his eyes. “And don't think I can't actually ground you.”

Once Jeremy actually processes what he's heard, he smiles. “Thanks, Geoff.”

“No problem. But from now on, shit that can jeopardize a mission or get someone hurt is told ahead of time. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.”

“I hate to interrupt,” says Ryan, “but it seems Gavin forgot something.” He nods to the wallet sitting on the counter. “So I think we're about to eat stolen food.”

Geoff whines. “Can we not have one quiet, law-abiding day?”

The other two laugh at the older man's annoyance.

“In Los Santos?” Jeremy asks. “Fat chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, folks. Thanks for reading.


End file.
